


In Which Miss Fisher Is Quoted

by SuiGeneris221B



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Drabbles, Experiments, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9477098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuiGeneris221B/pseuds/SuiGeneris221B
Summary: These are just little drabbles and short stories I've written. I'll add to the stories when the muse hits.





	1. Patience

It was the hissing that woke him up. Confused, Jack sat up to try to identify the source of the noise when he finally realized it was the sleet and freezing rain hitting the window. He shivered, noticing the fire in the fireplace was almost dead, and got up to stoke it back to life. 

Crouching in front of the fire to get warm, he watched the flames flicker and crackle across the wood, radiating heat to his skin. Once the fire was going again, he crawled back under the thick blankets, wishing there was another source of heat beside him, but instead, she was several rooms away, hopefully with her doors locked as he’d asked her to do earlier. A part of him wished he was brave enough to go knocking on that door because he knew full well she’d let him in. And maybe not just for the one night. 

But he wasn’t ready. And neither was Phryne. And this wasn’t the place to begin a romantic tryst, to say the least. So he would wait and bide his time. Patience was a virtue, or so he’d been told. He just wished it was a little warmer as he waited her out.


	2. Giving Up The Fight

She lay in bed, watching the sunlight filter through the curtains, and pulled the blankets higher until they were just under her nose. She had dreamed of him again and the memory of this made her wistful and sad. She didn’t want to dream about him. She wanted to actually see him. She missed his voice, the way he looked at her when he found her ridiculous and a little endearing, and it was impossible not to imagine what he would do in situations where she knew she could fluster him. Would he blush or give her a sardonic grin or bark “Miss Fisher!” in that tone that told her he was amused but wasn’t about to let anyone else know it? 

She’d fought her feelings for so long. She swore to herself years ago that she would never again let herself be so vulnerable as to fall in love again. Surround herself with friends, have meaningless flings that both parties knew was for that moment and that one alone, and if anything resembling love tried to find its way in, stop the feeling before it took hold. For almost a decade now, everything worked like she’d planned. How was it that he’d come out of nowhere to completely upend all her hard work?! 

It was pointless to deny it any more. She loved him. And it was time to go home and see if Jack was willing to endure even more Phryne Fisher in his life. Because she wanted him in every part of hers. For as long as he would have her.

Throwing back the blankets, she jumped out of bed and grabbed her robe. She had a new plan. She smiled.


	3. A Whole World Out There

London, 1930

 

“You should travel, Jack!” Phryne bounced on the couch next to him with her usual verve.

“I traveled here to England.” Jack put down the newspaper and smirked.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she huffed, “that’s not what I meant and you know it. You got six months leave and you spent five of those weeks just getting here and while this month together has been everything I could have wanted and more, you should go explore! The south of France, Italy, Switzerland, Greece, Spain…!” She waved her arms as though pointing out destinations on an invisible globe.

He watched her carefully, momentarily unsure if she meant what she said or if she was trying to tell him in a roundabout way that they wouldn’t work together anymore. “If you can’t come with me it won’t be nearly as much fun.” Her eyes softened and he was flooded with relief. Thankfully the former.

“I hate that I’m buried under the financial mess that my parents have left me trying to dig out of and I don’t want to bury you too.” Phryne reached out and caressed his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing her touch yet again.

“I came to London to be with you, Phryne, not to see the Seven Wonders. Although I think you make up at least three of them.” She gave him a saucy grin at that, but sobered again.

“I just feel guilty. Like I’m keeping you from seeing the whole world out there. It’s amazing and you deserve to witness it all.”

He sighed and held both her hands. “Where would you suggest I go, then? Say I wanted to take a short trip and then come back. What destination would you choose?”

She bit her bottom lip, and thought for a few minutes. “You could go to Scotland if you wanted to travel by train. Or you could take a ship over to France, Belgium, the Netherlands, or Denmark. All of them are wonderful. Maybe go to Ireland?”

He knew he didn’t want to leave without her beside him but she was insistent that he choose, so after a little more discussion, Jack opted for the Highlands of Scotland. Perhaps a week or two of fishing and hiking would be just the thing for him and keep him close enough to Phryne if she decided to join him. 

The morning he left on the train was bittersweet. He could see she was trying to be encouraging but he also saw her disappointment at being left behind. She made him promise to enjoy every second of his time there. He made her promise not to murder anyone while he was gone. She said she’d do what she could. He said it was the best he could hope for.

Two weeks later….

The steam drifted through King’s Cross station and Phryne was having trouble making people out as they got off the train. Finally, she saw his fedora and trench coat, joy bubbling up from someplace in her heart as she raced toward him. Jack’s eyes lit up when he saw her and dropped his suitcase, catching her as she launched herself his direction and could do nothing else but kiss her like he’d been imagining himself doing since he left two weeks ago.

They broke apart minutes (hours?) later and she buried her face in his shirt collar. He smelled of heather and wood smoke and earth and…Jack. It was intoxicating.

“I take it you enjoyed yourself?” she mumbled.

“I did. The countryside was breathtaking and everyone there was very kind.” Jack pulled back a bit to look in her eyes. “But I still missed you.”

Phryne would never admit how close she was to becoming a puddle at his feet, and her response was a little sassier than she’d intended. “Of course you did. I’m always a sparkling guest.” When he laughed, she knew he knew how she felt and laughed with him.

“So,” he teased, “is everyone still living?”

“I’ll have you know that my father is still being the charming, irresponsible miscreant that we all adore, so you won’t have to arrest me yet, Inspector.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Shame.” Picking up his suitcase he started to walk off as Phryne picked up her jaw. 

“Well if that’s the game you want to play, I’m certain I can accommodate you, Jack.” Reaching up to whisper wickedly in his ear, “handcuffs and all.”


	4. Three Little Words

Jack had heard them before, during, and after the War. He'd heard them in greeting and in farewells. In joy, in anger, in sorrow. They'd been said to family, to strangers, and even to inanimate objects if the item in question was important enough to merit such a statement.

They just hadn't been said to him. Not in a very long time, anyway.

Normally, such things didn't bother him and he felt no jealousy that another person or people were on the receiving end of such a statement, but lately it very much bothered him. And he knew why which vexed him even more.

In solitary moments he wondered who Phryne had said those words to and if she'd meant them. And if those men were worthy of those three little words that so many took for granted. But he suspected that while she was generous with her time, her smiles, and yes, even her body, those three little words would be kept behind impenetrable walls, only meted out for the rare souls who were truly worthy. 

And somehow he suspected that those numbers were infinitesimal.

On those nights Jack didn't go to her home for a nightcap, he had taken to sitting in a large chair in his backyard, glass of whisky cradled in his hand, letting the fragrances of his garden relax and restore him. Sometimes he pretended she was there with him which was foolish considering she'd never set foot in his house and he wasn't even sure she knew where it was. Or cared.

What would it be like to come home to Phryne Fisher every day? Would she light up when she saw him? Greet him with a kiss and throw her arms around him with her usual ebullience? 

Would she say those three little words he hadn't heard in years?

If he were truly honest with himself of late, hers were the only lips he wanted to hear saying them. Because if Phryne said them, then they must be true, and she wasn't one to throw sentiment around lightly, nor would she be able to lie while saying them. She could sell sand to a desert dweller for most things but these words, he suspected, she would only be able to say to a person who she knew would sincerely care for her heart as well.

It had been so long. What he wouldn't give to have someone say those three little words to him again? Maybe, just maybe, if he was patient and showed her he wasn't going to abandon her like so many others had done, she would draw him close, look deep into his eyes and say, “I love you.”

\-------------------------

Phryne had heard them before. From her late sister. From men during the war, dying in cold, muddy trenches, their blood hot and spilling on the ground faster than she could keep it inside them. From many, many men after the war. But not one of them had truly meant those words, except her sister. They were shouted in a moment of passion or begged to get her attention. 

Those three little words had been cheapened and used so often they didn't mean anything anymore.

Normally, such statements didn't bother her. She would smile at her latest conquest, giving them the adulation they'd been craving, get the satisfaction from their bodies that she'd desired, and then send them out the door with nary a hesitation. But lately if a man said them, they made her uncomfortable. Angry, even. Why say those words if you don't mean them? They should be a powerful statement from the depths of one's heart, not something said because they think it's what she wants them to tell her.

She'd wondered at times how many women Jack had said those words to. She could probably count them on one hand with fingers left over. Phryne imagined that they were not words he would ever take lightly. When he said them, he would mean them, and the woman on the receiving end would know she was cherished and needed. How lucky she would be.

On nights when she had no case to solve, when Jack didn't come by for a nightcap, and she didn't want to go out dancing or drinking, she sat in her parlor, glass of whisky gently resting in her hand, and gazing either out her bay window or into the fireplace at the gentle flames, imagining what it would feel like if Jack Robinson, the most serious, honest, truly good man, said those three little words to her.

Would she feel overcome? Would she laugh in delight or weep tears of joy? 

What would it be like to come home to Jack Robinson every day? Would he be waiting in the parlor with a soft smile and pull her towards him for a kiss? Would he banter with her and challenge her and stand beside her? Would he make her laugh with his dry sense of humor or would he set her skin aflame with desire when he touched her?

If she were truly honest with herself of late, his were the only lips she wanted saying those words because she knew he would truly mean them. To him, they wouldn't be vapid speech. They would be his way of giving her his heart for her to do with as she pleased, regardless of the outcome. And she so very much wanted to take care of his heart. She wanted to give him hers.

It had been so long. Maybe, if she was patient, and showed him that she was willing to slow down and listen, that he would take her in his arms and mean the words she'd heard from the wrong men for too many years. What she wouldn't give to have him look into her eyes and hear him say, “I love you.”


	5. Close Things

The ringing doorbell at 221B, The Esplanade echoed through the house and the ever faithful Mr. Butler was on hand to answer. Smiling at the person on the other side of the door, Mr. Butler cheerfully admitted him entrance.

“Good afternoon, Inspector! May I take your hat and coat?”

Jack handed the items over to him and nodded in return. “Mr. Butler. How is she today?”

“Sitting out in the garden, I'm afraid. Doctor Macmillan voiced her opinion of Miss Fisher being up already rather loudly, but didn't demand she go back to bed.” The good gentleman's tone implying he would have sided with the doctor in a heartbeat.

Jack's eyebrows hit his hairline and he made a low grunt of irritation, beelining straight to the garden to find the woman in question on a chaise lounge surrounded by a a good number of pillows, blankets, shawls, and furs. She was wearing a large hat and her usual sunglasses but wasn't in the shade.

Seeing her friend, partner, and lover storming towards her as expected, Phryne sighed in amusement and gave Jack a bright smile. “Hello, Jack! Fancy seeing you here!”

“Phryne,” he sighed, “what are you doing out here? You shouldn't be out of bed yet.”

“Nonsense. If I had to stay cooped up in that bed one minute longer I'd have gone mad. The very walls were closing in on me!”

“The walls were fine, you were not. Influenza is nothing to play around with!” Jack started pacing in front of her chair. “We've all been worried and it's too early for you to be outside.”

“Jack--”

“I know today is warm but there's a breeze and you could catch something else--”

“Jack--”

“Your fever could come back and considering how dangerously high it got--”

“JACK!” He stopped pacing and stared at her. Opening her mouth to say something, she instead closed it and held out her hand for him. His fingers were warm but trembling.

“I'm still here, Jack. I know it was a close thing, but I'm on the mend.” Phryne caught his gaze and held it. “Mac says the fresh air is good and that with all the blankets and such out here, I'll stay comfortable. But I'm not going to be out here all day or anything. Just for an hour or two. I know I can't exhaust myself.”

He gently sat beside her and squeezed her hand a little tighter. He couldn't admit how terrified he'd been when she'd started going downhill and nothing they were trying was working. He couldn't face his memories of imagining the future without Phryne; how bleak and empty they seemed. He'd realized he couldn't go back to the way his life was before he knew her. Jack was a strong individual, but knew a part of him would have died with her and that shook him most of all.

“I just can't bear to see you like that again, Phryne.”

They sat in silence for a few moments listening to the garden and the world around them. He wanted to fold her in his arms and keep her there forever but knew he couldn't and also knew she would feel the same had the situation been reversed.

She took off her sunglasses and leaned in to give him a soft kiss, but he held on longer, deepening the kiss until they were both a little breathless. 

“I promise not to worry you so,” she whispered.

Jack huffed a little and pressed his forehead against hers. “Don't make promises you can't keep, Miss Fisher.”

“Alright then, I promise not to get so sick again. I can't promise that I won't keep you on your toes where my investigations are concerned, though.” She pulled back and gave him a mischievous wink and a saucy wave of her head.

Taking the glasses out of her hand, he slid them back up her nose and tried to be stern but his eyes gave him away.

“I expect you to be back inside in one hour, and I will have Dot or Mr. Butler call me if you don't.”

“Yes, sir.” She saluted.

Grinning, he stood and began to leave, but abruptly turned around and leaned down to kiss her again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I'll be back for dinner.”

“You'd better be.”


	6. The Escaped Swallow

The room looked like it had been torpedoed. Drawers were pulled out, clothing was in utter disarray, bedding was tossed over every surface but the bed, and most of the furniture was moved except for those pieces that were simply too heavy for one determined woman to shift.

“Where the hell is it?!”

Phryne's maid had scuttled the minute she found out her employer was tossing the bedroom. Again. No sense in getting dragged into turning everything upside down when it would, more than likely, be her job to put it all back to rights. 

“Francine!! Please tell me you've found my pin by now!”

Phryne's mother had walked through the front door when she heard her daughter bellowing from upstairs. With a deep sigh of exasperation, she tossed her handbag and gloves on the foyer table, pulled off her hat and coat and shoved them at the butler. She couldn't help but give him an apologetic look as she marched upstairs to put an end to the chaos.

“Phryne, enough!” Margaret Fisher stood in the doorway with crossed arms and a cross expression. “All of London has helped you look for this pin for the last three days. If it hasn't been found by now, it has simply been lost.” Phryne's head popped up from underneath the bed, her normally sleek hair sticking in different directions and containing a dust bunny.

“Mother, I know it's here. It has to be. The last time I had it was in this house, I'm sure of it.”

“It's just a piece of inexpensive jewelry – ”.

“No!” Phryne shot back. “That swallow pin is one of the most precious things I own and if I have to rip up floors and tear out bricks to find it I will.”

“Darling, your Grandmother's pin was pretty but it wasn't worth all this fuss.”

Standing up and dusting herself off, Phryne kicked a pile of pillows out of her way. “That pin wasn't Grandmother's. I left that back in Melbourne. This pin was a gift and one that I have to find.” She put her hands on her hips and began to gaze around the room like she would magically find it in the pile of old shoes she'd dug out of her closet or some jewelry box that she'd looked through ten times that would somehow make it re-appear on the eleventh turn.

Margaret scoffed at the remark. “Surely whoever gave you that little swallow pin would forgive you if it got lost. It's not as though you got rid of it on purpose.”

Phryne made a sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. “No, he would understand. He would be the pure definition of understanding. But I can't bear not having it.” 

Her mother's eyebrows shot up at the use of the masculine pronoun, but said nothing. 

“The last time I wore it was three days ago when I went out with you to meet Lady Grisham and Annabelle Portman for tea. Annabelle commented about it when she saw it, remember?” Seeing Margaret nod, she continued. “I remember coming back to my room and taking off my scarf. I heard the telephone ringing and I turned and accidentally knocked several things off my dresser and when I was putting everything back, I realized the pin was gone. So either I lost in on the way back here, or it's somewhere in this room as I didn't go in any other room. Francine has searched the foyer, the stairs, and the hallway and can't find it. No one else has seen it. I just can't...uggghh!” Frustration boiling over, she flopped on her bed and pounded the mattress with her fists.

“Phryne, stop! This isn't doing any good!” Margaret sat down beside her distraught daughter and began to comb her fingers through her child's tangled hair. After a few minutes, she noticed Phryne was calmer, but was trying not to cry.

“I know this little pin was important to you, but it was simply an accident. If, as you say, this gentleman would forgive its loss in a moment, you shouldn't get so worked up. Go to a store and find another pin like it. It won't be the same, but you'll learn to love it, too. Now, get up, go wash your face, and start trying to put this room back together. Dinner should be ready in an hour.” Having delivered that pronouncement, Margaret left the room and Phryne curled up tighter on her bed.

It wasn't that the swallow pin was expensive, or flashy, or a grand gesture, because it was none of those things. It was simply a token. But a token given by someone she respected. Someone she even...loved. How could it have just disappeared? It was her talisman to get back home. One look at it or touch and Jack was instantly in her thoughts, watching him pin that tiny swallow with his big hands, trying several times before he managed to get it straight. Hopelessly endearing and romantic all at the same time. 

The loss of it would be like severing a link to him and she couldn't abide that at all. 

Giving one last shuddering sigh, she rolled over and reached out for her handbag which contained a fresh handkerchief. Wiping her eyes and nose, she caught a glimpse of something glittering in the bottom of her bag. Opening the bag wider, she moved several items out of the way before picking it up. The flood of realization hit her and she began to outright sob. Clutched in her palm was the little swallow pin.  
\--------------------

“How did it get in the bottom of your handbag?” Jack handed Phryne another martini and settled in beside her on the chaise.

“To this day I have no idea. All I can figure is that when I turned and knocked things off my dresser, it bounced in there and fell to the bottom when I picked things up. A sheer fluke, I suppose.”

“You could have done what your mother suggested and gone and bought a new one. It would have been worth more than this one.” He gently traced the outline of it on Phryne's blouse and she grabbed his hand.

“No, it wouldn't. This one is priceless and worth more than all the jewels in the Tower of London. Because you gave it to me.” Taking his martini, she sat both glasses on the table and wrapped her arms around him. “And I will treasure it as much as my Columbian emeralds or South Sea pearls. Maybe even more so.”

“You realize that I can't afford to give you emeralds and pearls though, right?” Jack looked a little sheepish as he looked at her and she cut him off with a kiss.

“Silly man. I don't need jewelry, I have plenty.” 

He paused for a moment. “Are you sure?”

She sat back a little to see if he was serious. Those blue eyes staring into hers were full of love and she bit her lip to keep from flying apart with joy. “For the moment,” she murmured. “But if that should change, you'll be the first to know.”


	7. The Best Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the best days are the ones where you can be silly together and just laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! I wrote something! It only took me six months, but life got in the way, you know?

She could hear the singing as soon as she walked in the door. It was obviously coming from upstairs but was there no one else around to hear it? Phryne peered into her parlor, her dining room, and her kitchen, but all were empty. How handy. Her mouth quirked upwards into a lascivious grin as she bolted up the stairs two at a time until the source of the music was made known. She wanted to sneak up on her, what sounded like, very drunk soloist.

Behind the screen in her boudoir, there was a splashing from her bathtub and what sounded like a clinking of glass meeting a decanter. She then heard the scratch of an album being started on the gramophone again and more splashing as the singer in question was getting back in the bath. Phryne had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud when she finally peered behind the screen as Jack settled back and began belting the song again while sloshing his whisky glass to the beat of the Al Jolson tune.

 _“I'm happy, so happy, walkin' on air_  
_The why and the wherefore_  
_Is someone I care for_  
_I'm yellin', I'm tellin' folks everywhere_  
_I know that she loves me_  
_So what do I care”_

Unable to stand it any longer, she cleared her throat to get his attention. He hung his head back until he was almost looking at her upside down. 

“Miss…FISHER!” Smiling the smile of a man feeling no pain, Jack gave Phryne a wobbly grin and tried toasting her with the whisky, nearly spilling it in the process.

“Jack! You certainly look relaxed. I take it your plans for the City South improvements went over well with Russell Street?” She gave him an amused look and then reached out to steady his glass. Managing to get his head upright, Jack beamed. 

“You should have heard me, I was brilliant. They agreed with everything—well almost everything—silly sods. Sods. Sooooods”. He opened his mouth wide as if making it bigger would emphasize the point better. “Tha’s a good word. Anyway, we’ll be able to give raises to the staff and hire five more const…cons…consables…yeah…and even give a few promotions.” 

“That’s wonderful!” Phryne crouched down beside the bath to run her fingers through his wet hair and give him a rather sloppy kiss. The man truly was drunk. But if anyone had a right to get happy drunk once in a blue moon, it was definitely Jack Robinson. “I couldn’t possibly be prouder of anyone right now.”

He seemed lit up from inside, and not from the very expensive alcohol he’d procured from Phryne’s parlor. Jack had been working for months to get a detailed plan together to get more financial support from his bosses and the fact that the biggest parts of what he’d more or less begged for had been approved, he’d started his celebration before his lover had returned home. Rarely seeing this side of him, Phryne couldn’t have been happier he’d started the party early.

Jack was waving the glass in time with the music and took another healthy slug before leaning back in the warm water again. The dreamy expression on his face made Phryne’s heart squeeze a little. 

“Did I tell you about Mac winning a grant for the women’s hospital?”. Phryne pulled up a small stool to the bathtub and rested her arms on the side. “So that’s two things to celebrate.”

Jack raised his glass again with great enthusiasm. “To the good doctor and women’s hospitals and more whisky!”

“More whisky?”

“Yesss…I’m out if you look at my glass and I would like more and the bottle is over there.” 

Phryne choked back her laughter and gently took it out of Jack’s increasingly unsteady hand. “Darling, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut you off for the time being.” His eyes went from slightly unfocused to half-heartedly mutinous. “You’ll thank me later when you’re able to stay upright for dinner with Aunt Prudence.”

“Tha’s tonight?” He practically whined.

“I know, I know, but she asked us weeks ago and there’s no way I can cancel now. So quit splashing me,” he’d kicked his feet in annoyance, “and hop out of the tub so I can get some food in you.” The promise of food seemed to perk him up. Pavlov would have been impressed.

He wobbled as he stood, still humming the song from the phonograph off-key. “Do you s’pose you could ask Mr. Butler for some drop scones with strawberry jam? And biscuits? And cream cake?”

“What’s brought on this sudden sweet tooth?” Phryne was busy toweling him off and looking around for his dressing robe.

“Sweets for the sweet.” At that, Phryne did burst out into riotous laughter. 

“I don’t know if you mean you or me, but I agree that you are delectable. Now go sit down over there and I will go beg Mr. Butler to indulge your craving. 

Jack rather comically flopped onto the bed and left Phryne giggling as she left the bedroom. She loved him so and today was a good day to share happy news and scones and laughter. They were the best days.


End file.
